Épisode de la vie d'un artiste
by Berlioz II
Summary: AU. Satoshi falls in love with destructive results. Based on Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique. Longer summary inside.
1. Rêveries  Passions

**ÉPISODE DE LA VIE D'UN ARTISTE**

_Okay, this story is a bit on the wild side. This is my attempt at adapting Hector Berlioz's programmatic Symphonie fantastique (an episode in the life of an artist) into a story format utilizing D.N.Angel characters. It's a huge departure from my previous story set strictly inside canon events. Only the core story is the same as in the symphony, but I've elaborated immensely on the foundation of the original to make it pretty much original throughout, while following the music itself and the emotions within. So you may consider it a songfic of a kind. Characters are free to be OOC and everything is set in an Alternate Universe setting, so don't go comparing too much with the original characters. Everything is written from Satoshi's POV._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own Satoshi or Risa. They are just good friends. Pretty much everything else is mine, though, except the Symphonie fantastique._

* * *

**Premier Chapitre:**

**Rêveries – Passions**

* * *

Morning

A time of day that is always as terrifying and hard to withstand than any other point of time during the rest of the day. The point where painful dreams subside to reveal an even more desolate and painful reality... a reality that keeps on throwing me from one side of a stormy sea to the other with slight regard to how seasick it makes me feel.

Urh, if it only were just sea sickness. At least then I could find a remedy, but no, this always has to be about some damned psychological question waiting to burst forth with a mocking sneer over my misery.

I so wish I could be able to pinpoint exactly where my source of wretchedness stems from so I could rectify the situation at least somehow.

Could it be my habitat? Well, I wouldn't be surprised. Blank, white walls; messy floors; dust everywhere; only little crevices for light to come through; a place that kind of reminds me of a mortuary; in short, a pathetic place to live... But no, that's too simple. I can always tidy up, but it's hardly going to make me feel any better.

My work? Definitely not! If there is one thing that at all keeps me sane is my art, my reason for being. Take that away and I might as well be dead. Or could it be just because it is all I have? Should I have more? What more should I have? Why do I have to ask myself when I don't know the answer? Why did I just ask a stupid question like that, since I perfectly well know what the answer to that one is? Questions, questions, questions...

What about the way I look? I wonder whose fantastic idea it was to give me naturally blue hair that can't even be dyed? Do I really want to draw attention to myself, like a freak of nature or the like? And, oh my God, do I hate my eyes. They are too piercing, that when I look through the mirror I feel like I could stab myself with them. My body is fit, but thin in a sickly sort of way... And my constant trouble with low blood pressure doesn't help matters.

No, that's not really it, either.

Companionship? Hmmm... could it be I'm just lonely? Is the possible answer to the problem contained within this simple equation? True, I can't really say I have many friends. Acquaintances yes, but I wouldn't really be prepared to call them friends. But even then, friends come and go... maybe it's deeper than that. A closer companionship perhaps? Could that be what I'm hungering after? Maybe I should do something about it...

I know! I'll paint.

An exquisite painting of my wants, needs and hopes... All expressed through nothing but colours and textures, soft hues and shades, the perfect companion... Yes, there and there, a soft touch there, a bit of depth over here... A ha ha, Satoshi, this will be a masterstroke of an idea you have ever had. A little more for the finishing touches... a gentle smile, understanding eyes, flowing hair, a gently curvaceous nose... perfection in every way... but... but...

Perfection yes... but only an ideal. ARH, will you listen to yourself! You're painting a picture of a girfriend to take out and have lunch with! As if you need to sound any more of a lunatic you already are. A fantastic painter you are, fast and precise... well, what did I expect being a descendant of a long line of genius artists... but no matter how lifelike you can make things, this is hardly a substitute for the real deal.

DAMN IT!!!

Do I seriously need all of this? I so enjoy torturing myself. Could it be that this way I at least feel like I'm still alive? Pitiful masochist, that's what you are.

Well, I might as well go outside. Better feel fresh pity than stagnant pity, at least that's what I say. Or so I tell myself. But it might just be another excuse to just do something. Though I have to admit I do kind of enjoy the sunny warmth against the exhausting gloom of my apartment, to which even that outer door looks like it's been ripped from a horror movie. I should have it painted, but then again what's the point? It's not as if I'll find any satisfaction out of it after the deed. Blergh, I really should start looking for more positive things in life; not that there are any, but still... it would keep me occupied for 15 minutes at least.

Step, step, step, step, step... where to go, where to go? Well, truthfully, who cares? Where ever my feet lead me, that's where. After all, isn't the journey more important than the destination? Particularly as I'm not too keen on reaching the destination any time soon, since I already know what will be waiting for me there.

The park... good enough place as any to stroll towards. Birds in trees, wind in the leaves, sunshine filtering through... It is all rather nice I have to admit. Enough for a fleeting moment of feelings that don't make me want to rip my own head off and have it all over and done with. So calm... so peaceful... so quiet... but...

Not so quiet and peaceful as I thought. A sound. A human sound. I'm not alone? Well, this is a public park, of course, but it is still pretty early for a Sunday morning.

Soft giggles, a high pitched voice... definitely a female. Who is she talking to? No other voice? Wonder what she looks like...

Just behind this corner... on that bench... talking on a cell phone...

The most perfect creation I have ever seen!

Perfect, long brown hair, gently flowing in the wind with a layer of it tied up with a yellow ribbon... Large, amber-coloured eyes full of life and vivacity... a perfectly proportioned nose... soft-looking, luscious lips from which melodious and clear tones emanate from like a Mozart symphony... smooth, peach-coloured skin... a perfectly proportioned chest-area, a tiny waist and all of this ending with a pair of shapely legs... a masterpiece if there ever was one. Well, maybe not exactly Botticelli's Venus, but that painting has never made my heart start doing these arrhythmic turns and twists before. Or am I just having a heart-attack; either would make me die happy right now. Surely if life imitates art, then I really wonder from what museum this piece has just escaped from.

But of course I'm in no position to be content and happy. I mean look at what I've been doing for the whole morning. I'm in constant struggles to avoid committing suicide for no real apparent reason, my mind is a total wreck, and still my heart pounds like it wants to escape the confines of my chest and run off to swim in a pond or something.

What did I promise to do just a few moments ago? Look for more positivity in my life? Could I look at this as a positive thing? Or will it slap back at me for apparent reasons? I guess there would be no harm in trying. After all, the worst that can happen is that I'll just kill myself. Yeah, right! I'd be lucky to actually get that far.

Well, here goes nothing... just walk past... nonchalantly. Oh, whoopie, she just ended her call, too. Inch, inch, inch... should I whistle something... maybe not... Hmmhmm dum da dum...

Oh, great. She noticed me. Now what do I do? Doesn't anybody have any brilliant suggestions on the next course of action?

"O-hayô!" she says suddenly!

She talked to me! Now what... Answer back! Answer back! Answer back! Answer back, you dunce!

"O—O-O- ha-yô..." Did that come out sounding like what a human being is supposed to sound like? I just can never tell.

Oh, and now she smiles at me! Ummmh... how did you do that again? Oh, yes, to smile is an action requiring for the facial muscles to contort upwards so that it causes one's mouth to resemble a deflated letter U or a banana... let's try that. Hmmhmmh... there. I don't really feel like this is exactly a smile, though. More like a gringe! And why must it be so difficult to keep your mouth in this position? Ooooh... I can't do it. Better give up before you completely freak the girl out.

Wait, what's this? She starts making noises... talking noises. Concentrate on the translation.

"Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Who cares about the morning? I'm suffering here and she asks about the morning...

"Hai..."

My, Satoshi, 10 points for a wonderful answer! If my feet just bended a certain way, I'd just kick myself in the groin.

More sounds: "Out on an early stroll, are we? Enjoying the pleasures of quiet before the rushes of the day?" And giggling sounds. "Harada Risa." Well, that last sentence makes no sense at all, so I suppose it's her name. Okay, she's extending her arm and probably wants to know who I am now. And no escape routes visible anywhere. Man, this is not working at all the way I planned it!

"Hiwatari Satoshi" I hear myself say while lightly taking her offered hand. Oh, how the contact makes me almost lose my mind. Not that I can compliment myself for being totally sane currently anyways. But her touch is like a surge of electricity flowing through every fibre in my body. And now she smiles again. This is becoming almost unbearable. The pressure on my heart is turning it into mincemeat. This was a bad idea. I have to get away now before I really do have a seizure.

"Ahh, I'm... that is, nice to meet – you, but I'm... busy and in hurry... have to go so... so long!" and now tally ho legs. Agh, just run run run run run run run run – leaving her behind on the bench watching behind me with confusion. Around the corner, out of sight. AAAAAHHHH! My head is spinning, my heart is beating like a jungle drum and my mind is a delirious mess. Is this what they call passions? The carnal lust of an animal in heat? Or would some know-it-all poet refer to it as "love at first sight?" Or something altogether more sinister? I don't know, and I don't have time to think it over. This is just too much for me to process right now. Talk to a woman just like that, what were you thinking Satoshi? You just can't do that!

There, my home; my door; through the door, my apartment; through my living room, my bedroom; in my bedroom, my bed; over my bed, sheets; under the sheets, escape from the visible world.

My heart finally settling down, finally rationality is setting in again. The adventure of the day is over. And yet that face continues to haunt me, those amber eyes melting me away. My religious consolations... art. That is what she was. Art. Sacred and hallow.

I'm really messed up...

* * *

_Well, first movement done. It's surprisingly difficult to write psychological stuff while following a piece of composition and trying to make it work as prose at the same time. Oh, well. The seeds of destruction have been sewn now. Hopefully this is turning into something worthwhile._

_As always, all feedback is welcome._


	2. Valse: Un Bal

**Deuxième Chapitre:**

**Valse: Un Bal**

* * *

How I hate this.

Just because I'm an artist, I need to do this. Honestly, I really don't need these distractions from my work. People should be happy they have me in this world without me needing to remind them of my existence. I mean, they should support me without questions, instead of making me feel like I somehow need to _justify_ my place in society.

Yes, you grinning lackey. Take my hat and coat and be quick about it. "Thank you" I say aloud. Hmph, always have to be polite. I'd rather smash that sneering guy's teeth in than be forced to thank him. Of course, say something contrary to a servant and you'll end up having a flat hat and the pockets in your coat slashed to pieces. My God, do I hate the lowly worker on the street, and how I need to interact with them in order to get along. Am I not one of the most extraordinary human beings alive right now to not be forced to descent to the level of those brain dead drones, such as that coat-hanger just now? All teeth and little else. Disgusting!

But it's nothing compared to what's behind those doors from where those muffled sounds are emanating from. Better take a deep breath... okay, here I go... closer and closer, step after step, inching my way towards the room, the doors quietly opening to the scene on the stage, and there... my fears... a truly unholy sight:

A Ball.

Look at all those people. Swirling on the dancefloor to the rhythm of a waltz. Uncaring of the world; content with their fat little lives and equally fat bankrolls. They really think they are somehow important. All they do is repress the important people in this world; namely me! Pshaw, they should be falling over my feet, worshipping me for gracing them with my presence. Do they? They hardly even notice I'm here! How self-contained people can be...

How it infuriates me how I'm supposed to be dependant on their "kind graces" for ordering work from me and paying off my bills. As if that is somehow a justification to think they are on a higher pedestal to me! ME! _The_ Hiwatari Satoshi! And of course everybody is always saying I have to make myself presentable and appear at these events to further my career. I ask, did Benvenuto Cellini have to live his life as an unknown? Did Da Vinci have to beg for being identified as a genius? I say NO! So why do I have to?

Might as well eat something, now that I'm here. This at least is a positive. The rich do know how to spend money on food. Even here the table is stuffed with meats, fruits, cakes, drinks of all kinds to even begin to numerate. They even have a huge ice sculpture as a center piece, regardless of how amateurish it is.

Ah, a little punch shooo-ouu-ld-uhm... cough, cough! ...d-damn it...

No! What is this?! What did I just see on the dancefloor that almost made me choke? Over there, yes... It can't be...

Those eyes... that hair... that smile... _HER..._

What is she doing here? Flitting through the denizen of dancers like a breeze of wind... a heavenly spirit come down from the air to gently swirl and roll amid the turgid gathering of grey and stiff blocks of stone. Oh how beautifully she leans and turns, so effortlessly, so lithely, so otherworldly... And here I am, thrown immediately into total disarray because of a lowly girl I have seen but once. Well, of course I know I only kid myself. She's definitely not "lowly"; she's positively divine! A wondrous goddess.

Should I attempt contact? How can I after that fiasco in the park? Or will the surroundings of a festive dance perhaps help matters get along a bit more smoothly than during the scene of intimacy before? Look at her. So happy, so vivacious, so graceful... So captivating.

Oh, shit! She's coming closer. Better hide behind this ice sculpture. Maybe she'll not see me.

"Hiwatari-san?"

Oh no! Of course she noticed. Good job hiding behind a transparent representation of a nude female.

"Is that you?"

Guess the game's up. "Yeah... hello... Harada-san."

"Fancy seeing you here" she says with a smile. "You ran off so unexpectedly the other day, I didn't expect to meet you again..." And with that, as expected, she's now inevitably drawing me into a conversation with her. It is a strange sensation really. On one part it is enjoyable to listen to her clear voice talk about matters that don't really make any difference to me whatsoever, like the food on the table and various puny people doing other various puny things with their lives; and on the other she is making my whole body go hot and cold, tense and loose, twisted and straightened, as if I'm just a puppet strung on a cord in my own wedding in the graveyard. But somehow I don't really care. To be this near her somehow makes it all feel like this is how my body always behaves. And those eyes... I could stare at them forev...

"Excuse me, Miss Harada? May I have this dance?"

What the hell? Where did this dweeb suddenly appear from? Are these young, rich snobs really that clueless about how one should conduct themselves in a social environment? Not only is it rude to suddenly interrupt a conversation like that, but that guy has the most irritatingly stupid grin on his face that I would be more than happy to wipe out... well, if I were of the hotheaded disposition. Such tasteless acts of menial violence are more the job of servants, which I unfortunately don't have any. Sometimes I'd really like to be able to withstand the smaller people, so I could make them do the things that are below me.

But no matter how this jerk's behaviour has just infuriated me, there is little else I can do in the realms of my surroundings than to watch as that piece of ooze leads my masterpiece to the dancefloor to the midst of the swirling group of moneybags. Oh my dear Creator! Swirling and turning, swirling and turning, even just watching her is making my head spin and turn right along with her. The dweeb vaporizes away from my vision, the music only adding to my sense of disorientation and intoxication; my head is feeling dizzy and my vision is getting more and more blurred. Everything around me disappears, turns insignificant; all that matters to me is her presence, that wonderful sense of perfection in art, the sense of satisfaction a Rembrandt or a Renoir painting can bring, only magnified a quadrillion times.

Oh, but what's this. Seems the dance is ending. She's disengaging from that tooth fairie. My chance to continue from where I just left off getting closer and closer by the moment. But, wait. Now somebody else comes to talk to her, an older man... it's... her father! She's leaving? No, she can't! Not now! Not when I got so close...

Up the stairs she goes... like a faun or a phantom... floating away like the morning mist. Like a dream... Leaving me standing here alone, my heart raging with unsatisfied passions and painful thoughts of missed opportunities.

And behind me, the vulgar crowd of partygoers dancing to their heart's content. Oh, why must they rub my misery deeper with their blatant exhibitions of joy? Why can't they just let my heart rip to shreds in peace?

I have never hated the ballroom scene more than right at this moment...

* * *

_Okay, second movement done. I did quite a lot of detailing here as the original programme note only said the artist is at a fancy ball and sees his beloved. Also added a couple of interludes like the beginning and the interaction with Risa, so that Satoshi's future actions would at least make more sense... sort of. That is as much as any of this makes sense to begin with._

_Again feedback is always welcomed should you wish to leave any (even if you just want to shout at me how much I suck and how I should stick this story up my ass)._


	3. Scène aux Champs

**Troisième Chapitre**

**Scène aux Champs**

* * *

_The wonders of nature bring into full bloom;  
It's colours and signs of seasonal bliss.  
It draws the heart toward it's vividful views,  
And unto the things that it should not miss._

* * *

The countryside. Oh, how great it is to be free of the hustle and bustle of the city. Nothing but the unadulterated green expanse as far as the eye can see. A pastoral beauty so natural of a John Constable piece of art that I love so much.

And what better to represent this calm than that melancholy, yet heartwarming duet of those two shepherds playing their pipes to each other. A communication requiring no words, only the simple melody of music from one, to which the other answers from somewhere far off. The very epitome of warmth and cosy familiarity.

Indeed, it is no lie. I truly enjoy the countryside. Nothing there requires anything from you. No filthy street merchants or annoying, rich busybodies to interfere with my life. No, the only interaction I have here is with the gentle wind that blows in my hair and in those trees, this gentle symphony only occasionally accentuated by the chirping of birds flying here and there... And most importantly no chance of running into a certain someone who makes my insides do painful backflips every single time.

Here I can feel calm and freedom of spirit unlike anywhere else. If anything, my creative juices have admittedly been running low. Ever since that ball, I have been totally unable to focus on anything. All I can think of are the mellow amber eyes that keep following me everywhere, from my dreams to my moments of solitary meditation. Even when I attempt to work, all I keep seeing are those accursed eyes dancing on me first the galop, then the polka and finally the waltz. Always the waltz.

My state of delusions were getting to be so bad, in fact, that the only thing I could do was to go away and empty my head from those thoughts... as futile as that seems even now. But I do feel a lot better, it has to be admitted. And you know what? Guess what else really makes me enjoy this place besides the tranquillity? The walks. The long walks that don't particularly lead you anywhere, but simply make you revel in the flora and fauna of the landscapes, the utter timelessness of not having to rush anywhere. I can just take my time walking up and down the pastures, thinking of art and its relevance in the greater truth of understanding the universe, the reveries of something far greater than me to which I know I will reach eventually... In short, here I can truly feel that I am destined for greatness yet.

Looking around, my habitual afternoon wandering of the day has apparently brought me to one of the most picturesque scenes I've ever seen, almost making me wish I had my painting equipment along with me. Ahead of me, over the pastures of tens of different greens, behind some mild hedges, extends an expansive lake from which reeds and water lilies stick out, the water itself reflecting in shades of greens, blues and grays the hills and mountains that tower in the farther distance of untapped wilderness. And on top of all this, a sky as blue as innocence with soft, white clouds floating gently across the canopy of the world. These are the precious moments I don't get to experience too often.

But what's this? Sounds? Seems I'm not alone on my little walk after all. Wonder if I can add a nice hint of simple peasant life into this scene... Over there. Just coming to sight...

No... no, it... it can't be!

Not _her_, not here! Not in my place of solitude! Not when I'm trying to forget her, why does she have to prance into sight like a bloodhound tracing a scent. Honestly, do I have a tracking device attached to me so she can always find me? Oh, how I hate her for that... yet, seeing her now, my heart only confirms the fact of how much I love her at the same time. And the ironic thing? She doesn't even know it. But if she ever betrayed me...

"Hiwatari-san? Is that you?"

Snap! Whow, that was weird. Curious thing I totally spaced out there. It has never happened to me before. And more so in front of her. Gave her enough time to notice me and start happily strolling towards me.

"Hey, Hiwatari-san! What are _you_ doing here?" she gleefully asks.

"I'm just taking a short holiday, nothing more," I answer back. Funny how seeing her always makes my heart jump up and down with these painful spasmodic movements, yet whenever I drift into conversation with her, it all seems to float down on its own weight and not even feel laboured. Apparently her family owns a country house down here and she has accompanied her parents to "enjoy the pleasures of country life" for a few days. Right at this moment, she was just on her way back from a final Sunday stroll before relocating back to town the following morning. Such unfortunate luck to run into her on the very _last_ day she is to be found from here.

But somehow, despite my original objectives of coming here to forget her, I'm actually happy to be able to enjoy her company. Her gentle, clear voice resonates so beautifully with the gentle summer breeze and twitter of birds, while her frilly, white dress along with her ribbon elaborations in both the fabric and in her hair creates a magical contrast to the surrounding greenery. Walking, talking and just enjoying her nearness, that is what makes everything feel so much easier with her when in reality it is not. How I want to kiss her...

This is it, Satoshi. If you don't gather your courage now at the most opportune moment and confess your love, how will you ever hope to be cured? Just pop it in there, in the middle of birds and other small talk. I love you, that's all you need to say. If she rejects you, then go drown yourself in that lake yonder. It's as easy as that.

Yes, I must do it! But, still, how can I just "pop it in" there? What if she indeed rejects me? How can I withstand that? I don't want to be forced to lose her now, not when I'm so close. But then again it will only be more painful the longer I stretch the wait. Oh, why must this be so hard?

"Oh..."

What was that noise? She suddenly stopped, her eyes directed towards the sky.

"Looks like it's going to rain soon. Oh, I better hurry and get back to the house. It was nice seeing and talking to you again, Hiwatari-san. I think I'll see you around again, hmmm? See ya!"

And with that she gives me a wide, happy smile, a wave of a hand and runs off towards her home, leaving me behind dumbfounded, my void argument about confessing my love to her stuck in my throat.

Watching as she runs away from me, getting smaller and smaller before eventually disappearing altogether, I can't believe I was so close but yet so far. Maybe that lake doesn't sound that bad right now...

It's so hard to believe how quickly the atmosphere has changed. What was once tranquil, is now riddled with dark thoughts and desperate hopes.

Beside me... there... standing on that mossy rock... the shepherd I heard before starts playing that tune again. But, seems he is only there to accentuate my feelings of despair. The other shepherd that answered from somewhere farther off before no longer answers his call, the plaintive tune hovering in the air with a melancholy air of loneliness and solitary desolation; a clear reflection of my heart's condition.

And there... in the distance... in the direction of those darkened clouds, the rumble of thunder... the only answer to reach these secluded plains; the only response to the plaintive melody.

The sun sets... everything is silent and cold... peaceful... like in a graveyard... all of this only punctuated by the that rumbling of thunder... like the drums at the gallows. My noose awaits...

I think it's time to take a swim...

* * *

_Third movement, and at the same time probably the hardest movement, done. Ironically considering it is the longest movement, very little actually happens. So please forgive me for my attempts at making this chapter longer by including a lot of clear padding. But then again, this is the countryside... everything takes its time. But I'll say this: writing monologues that are at least somehow interesting is really hard!_

_Feedback, whether it be positive or negative, are again welcomed._


	4. Marche au Supplice

**Quatrième Chapitre**

**Marche au Supplice**

* * *

_Ich armer Tambourg'sell,  
Man führt mich aus dem G'wölb!  
Wär ich ein Tambour blieben,  
dürft ich nicht gefangen liegen!_

* * *

How could this be happening to me? How is this fair?

My future... my awaiting greatness. How can these menial people just strip all of that away from me? Take away everything I have to give to this world? And for what? A minor indiscriminate act. I mean, it's not as if I meant to do it... nor did I want to. It was but a minor moment of loss of reason, that's all.

_Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty..._ those fateful words just won't leave me alone! They are still echoing around me as if they were just uttered but two second ago. It's so easy to condemn, isn't it? Play God for all their might to make them feel superior, when in fact they're just trying to hide that in reality they are just trying to over-compensate their own lack of uniqueness on the expense of those who are.

Agh, those drums... those morbid, black drums just outside. Don't those drummers have anything better to do than create more oppressive weight to this damp, dark cell? It's as if they intentionally want to make their prisoners suffer even more than they already are... which is probably their objective anyways.

And in the end, all that soft rumbling causes nothing more than to make me remember my unfortunate consequences... of my own importance to the world... of _her..._

Yes, it's all her fault.

If that encounter in the green pastures that one day did nothing more to me, it was to finally make me grab a hold of myself and make me spill it all out in front of her... for better or for worse... certainly hopefully for the better no matter what the outcome. In all honesty I could not have taken any more of that feeling of uncertainly and haunted recollections of unsatisfied lust.

For once in my life I was actually going to do something regarding somebody else than me. Oh, yes. I had it all planned out... flowers, dinner, carriage ride, soft confessions of love in a little wine stupor, eventual make-out scene for my pleasure and then placing her on the pedestal of the great artifacts of the world. My greatest triumph. A wife as worthy to behold as the Seven Wonders of the World before her.

Or, so it was supposed to be...

Did she realise the importance and the gravity of what I was offering? Did she fall down and worship me for the greatest of all honours I was prepared to bestow upon her? Did she? No. Not in your life!

Meeting her at her home (as I had of course found out where she lived), I was lead to the grand parlour that was ornately decorated and lavishly over-saturated with flowers, heavy furniture and a garish fireplace. To this heavy environment she floated... not walked, but literally floated like a nymph, transfixed into a scene she did not belong to. Oh, just the sight of her was enough to make me feel warm and uneasy again, while she almost miraculously managed to lift the oppressive air of the room by a simple smile on her rosy lips.

"_Hiwatari-san?" _she asked curiously, almost timidly I thought... How my heartbeat increased by that simple pronouncement of my name. I knew now that I would have to do it... would have to confess or suffer the consequences of my reticence.

Oh, how it pained me to have to go through the preliminary empty chatter that was expected from polite social conduct... every moment of it causing my heart to twist into a tighter knot, like a wet blanket being squeezed of the fluids within the cloth. But finally the moment came, that oh so long awaited moment.

"_You wanted to see me about something, Hiwatari-san?"_

Yes, yes, I did and now it was time to tell her.

"_Yes, Harada-san. There is something very important I need to tell you. Something that concerns you and me both. I have a confession I feel I must make and I hope you do not think I am being too forward. But I... I... have very strong feelings towards you – in fact, I... I believe I am very much in the grips of the emotion called love, which is directed at you! And I would very much like to ask for your hand in marriage."_

There, I said it! Now all I had to wait was for her to gleefully jump on me and say "yes".

But such a moment did not come. Instead she gave an uneasy look, seemingly almost embarrassed. Twiddling her fingers she slowly began...

"_I... I don't know what to say, Hiwatari-san... I'm awfully flattered, and I... um... I'm quite honoured you would consider me that way, but... I'm really sorry... I'm afraid I cannot accept your love or proposal... You see... I'm getting married... to Lord Ayanami, whom I believe you met at the ball..."_

That's when I lost it. Whatever else she said was lost to me. All I could hear echoing in my ears was _I'm getting married, I'm getting married, I'm getting married, married, married, married, married... to Lord Ayanami, _that sneering dweeb who had so unceremoniously cut off my conversation during that horrible night at Baron Hitomi's Ball. That man... that grimacing shoesalesman, who dared mock my feelings... dared take away my masterpiece. _I'm getting married... to Lord Ayanami... and not you... never you! _Oh, her mocking eyes, her laughing mouth, her evil words, her hurtful scent, her... I will not be made a fool of!!

I am Satoshi Hiwatari! I am the greatest man alive on this planet! Nobody... and I mean _nobody_ treats me like a fool! Not the leaders of this world, not the social snobs, not the simple servants, and most certainly not her... not _her..._ I'm better than all of them! I am destined for greatness! I... I... I...

No wait... what are those sounds... those muffled sounds of somebody trying to speak... No, as if somebody's choking on a shrimp? Wait, a shrimp? Not a shrimp... my hands... my hands squeezed around... around somebody... somebody's throat... but whose thoat? A slender throat... a female's throat... – Risa's throat!

Her's – – –

My – – –

Her unmoving body... her unseeing eyes... her unspeaking lips... limp in my hold...

I-I-I... What have I done...?

Well, it was not long before I was caught in my moment of alleviating insanity. Not long before the police arrived. Not long before I was handcuffed and taken away. Not long before I was condemned almost at sight. Not long before the fateful words _guilty! _were spoken. Not long before I was sentenced to death... And all of this time I was in a stupor of whirling emotions, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. All my hopes dashed away because of one moment of insanity.

I mean, you understand, right? It wasn't my fault. It was a simple moment of losing mental control. I'm hardly to be held responsible for that. How can I then be sentenced to death? It was not my fault! It was... it was the fault of those sneering snobs. If he hadn't taken away what belonged to me... And if she hadn't said... it was her fault... it was his fault... IT IS NOT MY FAULT!!

...And now they call _me_ a murderer. Let me just ask you, are any of them any better?

Ah... the break of dawn... a sinister cock crow... the incessant drumming... the awaiting scaffold... it's not long now.

And here they come... coming to fetch me, my grim reapers in disguise.

"Hiwatari. It's time."

How my feet feel like lead. I feel like shit, too. My clothes are sticking to my body and I just know my face and hair are dirty as hell. Through the corridors of fear my steps echo, somewhat strangely reminding me of Dante's Divine Comedy as if I am being led to the Nine Circles of Hell by my demon hosts... without the help of Virgil by my side either. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," indeed. Even the classics now mock me. Indeed, how ironic that I have turned into the very definition of the Aristotelian tragic hero. History can be so cruel.

Well, there it is, beyond those doors, the walk of shame and the guillotine, my final destination.

The doors open and I am, of course, immediately greeted to one of Azumano's most loathsome sights of dirty entertainment: the crowds, here to cheer the spectacle of a public execution. I have often seen these shows of bad taste and never have I seen anything entertaining about the whole ordeal. People come here to cheer, shout and mock the poor souls about to loose their heads in a show of bad taste only equalled by their never ending greed, unfazed by the fact that most of their victims are likely just as innocent as I am.

Funny, how I never thought I'd end up in the middle of these events of popular attraction. The sneers, the cheers, the loud outbursts of profanity, that follow without transition the thunderous stomping of feet, outline my whole walk from my cell to the hideous apparatus set up on the raised stage; the grotesque, antique guillotine, the silent witness of over a century of executions and death.

Finally the walk, that seemed to last for miles, ends up in front of that harbinger of doom, my head neatly placed under the looming blade, and to wait for the final strike to come...

I could just laugh at the irony of it all. All this time I have wanted attention, for people to notice me, and in the end this is the way I finally got what I wanted. The protagonist is dead, long live the memory of the murderer. All for lust and lust for all. And the crowds love it.

"Risa..."

I'm... I'm... sorry...

SWISHHH–BUM!!

* * *

_Fourth Movement complete. I wonder if I went a little overboard on this one, but then again what wouldn't I do for the sake of angsty self-pity, grotesque satire and shock effect. But I do have to admit, I have never written this much about people dying before._

_I, poor drummer boy –  
they're leading me from my cell.  
If I had stayed a drummer  
I would not be imprisoned now.  
– Gustav Mahler: Der Tambourg'sell_

_Feedback is always appreciated, whether good or bad._


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